


Never Meant to Be

by George_Athelstan



Category: Les Misérables - All Media Types
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-01-31
Updated: 2017-01-31
Packaged: 2018-09-21 04:26:38
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,181
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9531428
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/George_Athelstan/pseuds/George_Athelstan
Summary: This was never the way Grantaire wanted it to be. First, it was a simple mission: stop the revolt, at the very least postpone it another decade. But things changed when he fell for the leader of the group he was hired to stop.





	

The fall was harder than expected. The newcomer fell straight onto the cobblestone street, wet from the morning shower. Luckily for him, his face did not land first, rather his arms which now tingled with a sense of numbness. His head reverberated; his mind now disillusioned as to where he was. Was this Paris? A nearby city? 

He could hear the sound of horses pulling carriages down the road. People… there were not many distinguishable voices, so it was not during the busiest part of the day. After a moment and the world stopped spinning, R opened his eyes to see a street lit by candle lamps and any occupied buildings. He had made it. He couldn’t believe his eyes, he had made it.

His arms went under his torso, able to push himself up onto his knees. Everything hurt or felt as if there were no muscles or bones in him, unable to completely stand for another minute. Finally on his feet, Grantaire patted himself to make sure he had everything - his papers, his ring given to him by his father, and a flask that he always had with him. Of course, now, it was empty, and he knew he needed something. 

Looking around, he found a small inn, or what looked like an inn, only a few buildings off. There was laughter and music coming from it, and thus, it was a popular place, he thought. His body rested on the exterior wall of a nearby building as he kept his eyes on his destination. It was as if he had to remember or learn how to do simple tasks like walking. He inhaled, and then took a step, able to move better than he mentally prepared himself.

With each step, Grantaire grew stronger and more confident in himself. His mind was surprisingly at ease even with all that had occurred. As he neared the building, he could hear jolly laughter and could feel the warm glow of happiness upon his face. 

“Bonjour, Messeiur,” a lovely girl spoke to him. Her face was beaming with a smile. Her dirty blonde hair was nicely tucked away into a bonnet. Her dress fit her very well with the corset showing every inch of her curves. The dress she wore had stains from everyday cooking and cleaning, and even in the dirtiest of outfits, Grantaire knew her beauty would shine through not matter what. Everything about her wiped away the unsettled feelings that he had about being in this new place.

“Good evening,” R muttered. She chuckled.

“It is indeed.” Her innocence was a reminder of innocence long gone for him. How he wished that time could go back, even for tonight, then again… why not tonight. “Are you alone, Messieur? Are you traveling far?”

“I… yes,” he nodded. “I seem to have, um, lost my way.”

“Oh, you poor thing!” she interrupted. “Come in, come in and sit by the hearth. I’ll get you something to drink."

The brunet offered his arm; she took it, leading him to the lit fireplace. “There’s a washroom down that way,” she said as he took a seat. His hands immediately went towards warming themselves by the fire. “I’ll get you a drink and some food, you must be famished!”

“Thank you, Mademoiselle,” he said with a charming grin, which left her giggling and blushing towards the kitchen. Grantaire found himself giddy because of this encounter. Things were going better than planned. He already met a friendly face. Now, he had to plan – a room, a job, and then find-

Suddenly, the young lady was back, handing over a pint and a loaf of bread with cheese and soup. It was not until he smelled the food that he then realized that there was no money in his pockets. His face elongated.

“Is it not to your liking?” She asked. 

“Oh, no,” he quickly replied. “It’s just that I… I seem to have forgotten my money is all.” He was shown such sweet kindness and now, it was wasted. “I’m sorry, I can’t afford this.”

“No worries,” a voice came from behind Grantaire, “I’ll cover it.” Grantaire glanced over his shoulder to see who the kind stranger was, surprised to see someone younger than he. This person was thin and possibly still in his teens. His hair was a strawberry blond or some variation of the sort, which came down to his chest if it were not for the fact it was in a messy braid behind him. He wore a vest of crème and embroidered flowers. His shirt was flourished with ruffles along the chest and sleeves, showing signs of fashion and possible wealth.

His cheeks were covered in freckles and his eyes had a naiveté about them, but at the same time, Grantaire could sense an old soul lived in this form. 

“You don’t have to do that,” Grantaire tried to speak, only to be cut off by a gentle gesture of the youth.

“Nonsense!” He exclaimed. “Angelica found you nice enough to have a place at the hearth; certainly you are a man of good character to leave such an impression. That or…” he chuckled, “you are a Don Juan and smooth enough to trick anyone into your whims.”

Grantaire sat there silent, unsure how to answer. “I assure you, I’m not a Don Juan in the least bit.”

“Then you are a man of good character!” The stranger lit up as he pulled up a chair to sit beside the newcomer. “Forgive my poor manners, my name is Jean Prouvaire, but I go by 

Jehan to my friends. That or Prouvaire. And what is your name?”

It wasn’t until Grantaire started to eat that Jehan sat beside him. The question and openness of a complete stranger was unfamiliar to him and surprised him to the point of almost choking on his drink. “G-Grantaire. My name’s Grantaire. Or R, I guess.”

Jehan’s smile grew from ear to ear. By his facial expressions alone, it was easy to tell that this man loved making new friends or new acquaintances. “Grantaire,” he repeated the name, noting how it felt upon the tongue. “And you say you go by R? That is very clever.”

The skeptic looked up in shock – eyes wide. “You understand the pun?” 

“Grantaire… Grand R…” Jehan leaned forward, closer to R. “It’s genius!”

“No one has ever called me a genius before.” He was blushing now. At first, he was afraid of how he would get by on his own in this new town. He knew no one, and yet he was now being shown hospitality. Heat was rising in his cheeks that he would blame on the heat from the fire and the hot soup rather than embarrassment. 

There was a small pause between them as Grantaire continued to eat. “Thank you, Jehan, for this meal,” he said finally. “I didn’t mean to impose, but she saw me and gave me food.” He took a breath. “Sorry, I’m new and not familiar to the area. Do you know of a place I can stay?”

“And what money will you be using if you can’t afford some bread and soup?” The question was obvious, so much so that Grantaire couldn’t believe it slipped his mind. His heart sunk as did his expression. Where could he sleep since he had not a penny to his name? It was possible that he could sell the ring for some money as he got onto his feet, although it had been in his family for generations. The streets were always an answer, not a safe one, but he could make due if need be.

Jehan watched with careful precision, reading Grantaire’s reactions. Although he was not a mind reader, Jehan was very good with people, emotions, and the mixture of the two. The furrowing of the brow, the distant but fearful look in the eye, it was all too clear what was going on in this man’s mind. Shock – a sense of reality had suddenly struck him back into the world. “Messeiur?” Jehan asked with a head tilt.

A quick inhale came into Grantaire’s lungs as he looked up as a prey about to be a meal. That was the final act that made Jehan’s suspicions concrete.

“You will stay with me tonight,” Jehan continued, not allowing Grantaire to protest. “And I will even assist you. That is what is troubling you, yes? That you are alone, and need a place to stay?”

Grantaire’s mouth opened as if to speak, but only mutterings and incoherent words could come out. “Why?”

“Why what?”

“Why would you do this?” Grantaire insisted. “I am no one to you, and yet you offer me food and a place to stay. Is that wise? I could be a murderer for all you know!”

“And I can defend myself against one,” Jehan smirked. “I highly doubt you are though, judging by how you have handled yourself in here, not that there is anything wrong with it.” He paused. “I’ve known wretched and beautiful beings, and you are not as devilish as you fear for my sake.”

“I hope you do not take this the wrong way, but what are you?” Grantaire sighed in amazement, placing his bowl down on the table. This ensured that he would give Jehan his complete and undivided attention. “You are not like many people.”

The poet burst out into laughter – joyous and uncontrollable laughter – at the question. “What am I?” He repeated with a hand on his abdomen as if it could stop the muscles contracting. “I am nothing but human, my dear sir. I care about people, maybe more than I should. I cannot help it, nor will I deny the heart I have for those who need it.”

“Is it that apparent, my situation?”

“Oh, no!” Jehan sat up. “I did not mean any harm by it. I only wish to help.”

Grantaire inched forward, cupping Jehan’s hands in his own. “And I thank you, deeply for it. I am in a debt of gratitude for this. I promise I won’t overstay my welcome. I only need a few weeks to get a job and afford my own place. I’ll repay everything.” 

“It’s okay, Grantaire.” The use of his name sent Grantaire over the moon. He had a friend now, or so it seemed. Jehan loved the reaction – the enthusiasm in the other’s face and voice. “I know you are wonderful, even by your words, I was right about you!” 

Both of them shared this moment of bliss together, not speaking in words, but still having some sort of conversation. It was a mutual understanding of each other. 

“Now,” Jehan said after a moment. “Let’s get you settled, shall we?”

R nodded with a final swig from the alcohol in the glass. The warmth from the liquid stayed in the back of his throat as he stood. “Lead the way,” he instructed with a gesture of his hand. Jehan bounced out of his chair and onto his feet in a fluid motion. Grantaire could not help but to be enamored with this man.

Prouvaire led the way a few streets down from the place where they met. The joy that Jehan let show through as he walked brought back happiness to Grantaire. With each step, his new companion either skipped, twirled, or all of the above. His braid swayed in his movements; his figure outlined by the lights surrounding them. Questions of Jehan’s upbringing, his outlook in life swam in R’s head. Maybe at some point, he could gain access to the answers.

“Where are you from?” Jehan called out as he turned towards the other. 

“Nowhere special,” Grantaire replied. “A small town a few hours from here.”

“And you came to Paris. To start over?”

Grantaire paused. “I… You could say that.”

Jehan ran back to him, holding onto his hand. Grantaire should not have been surprised that Jehan’s hands were smooth. His fingers were thin and long, which was opposite of Grantaire’s big and semi callused hands from the art projects and jobs he had held in the past. ”And what do you like to do? What kind of job are you looking for?”

“I’m unsure of what I can do here, to be perfectly honest,” Grantaire started. “I’m good at art, but I know that is not where the money is unless you are a Claude Monet…”

“Who?” Jehan asked, tilting his head. “I haven’t heard of him before.”

“Oh,” Grantaire cleared his throat. “He’s no one, I mean, not yet. What I meant to say was a Jacques Louis David.”

Jehan’s eyes lit up at the name. “You know of David? He’s one of my favorites! The paintings he made of various Roman mythological histories and even Napoleon!”

“Yes, he’s one of my favorites,” Grantaire nodded. “The way he uses color to draw the observer into the moment in history…”

“Exactly!” Jehan looked ahead, gaining more speed in his step. “It’s this one on the left.”

The street they were on was lined with buildings one on top of another. There were only architectural details that marked where one building ended and another one began. Each flat, or so Grantaire called them in his head, was three or four stories tall with barely any detail on their exteriors. 

“Now, I must warn you,” Jehan searched for his key. “It’s not the most tidy of places, but it is home.”

“I’m sure it will be fine, Jehan. It’s where you live, so who am I to judge your lifestyle?”

That made the student smile. Jehan led him up a flight of stairs to the left, where his abode was. With an “a-ha” moment, he found the key in one of his many pockets – how could his attire hold so many pockets? The door opened with what seemed to Grantaire as a secret way of unlocking the door – a giggle here and elbow grease. 

“Home sweet home!” Jehan announced, stepping inside and gesturing Grantaire to soon follow.

His flat was small and yet a good size bigger than what the outside would lead one to believe. The front room had a small fireplace that no doubt doubled as a stove. A table with three chairs buried under piles of books of Juvenal and Plutarch – no wonder he knew the topics David painted. Papers both crumpled and flat lined the make-shift desk. Three candles practically on their last leg sat on the table as well. 

By the window, there was an assortment of plants, most of which were herbs. The window overlooked a small park with a singular bench. Soil was scattered with water stains due to the newness of the plants. 

“Make yourself at home,” Jehan smiled, closing the door behind them. There was a loveseat or couch looking piece on the adjacent wall from the bookshelf and table. The books caught Grantaire’s attention. His eyes scanned the collection. Dante, Aeschylus, Isaiah, Agrippa d’Abigne were just a few of the authors Grantaire recognized. Prouvaire was a scholar to himself, indeed. There were two books of each author – one in its original language and the other in French.

“Have you read all of these?” He called back.

“Only once or twice,” Jehan shrugged. “The bottom row I’m still working on, but I’m always on the lookout for new ones. It’s a weakness of mine.”

“Not a bad Achilles’ heel to have.”

Jehan made his way to stand next to Grantaire. His arms crossed in contentment. “It’s so nice to meet someone who knows of these,” meaning authors. “My friends do as well, don’t get me wrong, but a new face is always welcomed.”

“Are they all as studious as you are?”

“They are all students like me. Some work on the side or work instead of school, but, we all get along very well.” He looked over at Grantaire. “Can I get you anything? A drink, tea?”

“You have given me so much already,” Grantaire smiled. “A drink would be nice, if you have anything.”

“I know of something. One moment,” Jehan hurried to the wine cabinet that multi-tasked for plates, cups, and alcohol. The clamor could be heard as Jehan searched in a secret spot, calling out in his eureka moment upon finding the bottle. “I’ve been saving this for a special occasion.”

With two glasses in his hand, he joined Grantaire in the living area. R took the glass designated his as Jehan poured the red liquid. “I was given this to me by a friend,” he continued. “I haven’t any reason to drink it until now.”

“I’m honored you think I am worthy of such,” Grantaire replied. He raised his glass so to give a silent toast. Jehan followed suit, smiling after his sip. Grantaire, however, drank more than a gulp. “Really, though, you are too wonderful.”

“It’s no problem at all,” Jehan shook his head. His steps took them to the couch, whereupon Jehan sat with legs neatly tucked under him. “Tell me more about yourself.”

Grantaire’s eyes widened. “What is there to know about me?” His shoulders shrugged. “My mother died when I was young, no more than five. Never been good at school. And prefer not being sober unless needed to be,” which was said with a smirk and another drink to match.

Jehan’s eyes never left Grantaire as he spoke. The young man was as perceptive as R was, perhaps more so. “I’m sorry you lost her at such a young age.” His hand moved towards  
Grantaire’s. “I couldn’t imagine what it must be like without a mother.”

“I’ve gotten over it,” the brunet shrugged. “It was so long ago, I didn’t think of it as a loss. She was….” he gave a small laugh.

“What?” Jehan inched closer.

“Nothing… just… she seemed to never have left me.”

Jehan’s eyes lit up with a smile to match. It was then the idea of an old, possibly reincarnated or other-being was with him solidified in R’s mind. Even without a word, Grantaire felt more at peace with this one person than ever before. That some spiritual light shown forth from the student.

“What are you looking at?” Jehan questioned, head tilting as he still smiled. His other hand was underneath his head, elbow leaning on the couch. 

“You,” Grantaire said matter-of-factly. This produced a pink glow on Jehan’s face, which he attempted to hide. Poorly.

“You flatter!” He playfully whined. 

“I speak the truth!” Grantaire exclaimed, sitting back in an alert position. Jehan’s legs moved inward to where his feet were neatly tucked beneath him. A huge smile beamed from 

Jehan’s face. Without any words, pure joy and happiness were expressed. Both men, though having only met a few hours prior, felt as if they had known each other their whole lives. 

“I’m glad that I met you,” Prouvaire said after a few seconds of silence. His expression said something more. Again.

“So am I.” He raised a glass in appreciation, drinking to their new found friendship.


End file.
